


The Summer of Us

by batmanisabanana



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Louis, F/M, First Time, Immorality, M/M, Obsession, Older Harry, POV Change, Pining, Possessive Behaviour, Protective Harry, Size Difference, Smut, Top Harry, Underage Relationship, Younger Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-02-24 14:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13215351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batmanisabanana/pseuds/batmanisabanana
Summary: For six weeks Harry would stay with them, assisting Mark Tomlinson with his works. And in those six weeks Harry had found with him a new home. His eternity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by Andre Aciman's book, “Call Me By Your Name”. There are some lines that I took from said book, lines that I felt very deeply for. If you have read the book, you will see those lines— I tweaked most of them, of course, but those lines were what made me want to create this story. 
> 
> The plot isn’t the exact same as the one from the book, although the concept is. 
> 
> Aside from this, this book also features a relationship between someone who is underaged (16) and someone who is already twenty two. I do not, by all means, condone or support underage relationships, but for the purpose of writing a metaphorical villain had chose to make this particular story revolve around it.
> 
> Also I'd like to note that I wrote this piece trying to fight off my writer's block. As anyone who follows my works might know I haven't written anything in the past five months, so I am a little bit crusty.

**HE STILL REMEMBERS** the first time he had visited this particular beach.

When he shuts his eyes he is twenty-two again, a fresh college graduate who's only dream is to become a writer. Spending his whole summer as a guest at his professor's home; who is by all means living _his_ dream life. He's brought with him a backpack and one suitcase— clothes and other hygienic products stored carelessly inside them. He's got his favorite book, too, one that was given to him by his father as a keepsake before the man had decided to fuck off with that blonde waitress with those pretty eyes and crooked smile. There is no tenderness kept for that man, no fond memory of him etched inside his head. No anger too, surprisingly. It was just another cliché situation to add to his very cliché life.

He had stepped off the cab with his knees popping and his back tied in knots, and stood for the first time on the Big Sur beach, his worn-out espadrilles sinking into the sand. He inhaled deeply, not at all minding the smell of the ocean, of the fresh morning air— he had been used to the smell of exhaust fumes, of hotdogs cooking, cigarette smoke, the city smell.

His life has been a series of grey areas— never black, never white. It had always been a color in between. And maybe because of this Harry found his escape, his adventure within books. Within finding meaning behind every poet's cryptic lines; because what else was he supposed to do when there was no excess, no shortage.

And then suddenly a boy is rushing over to him, and in this moment Harry had thought of another cliché to add to his lifetime. And looking back he wonders if it had started right there and then; when he saw him with his squinted blue eyes and golden skin, caramel soft fringe and his damn palish-yellow sweater that he loves to wear so much.

"My name's Louis," the golden boy had said, no hi's or hello's, no welcome to our humble abode, just a small hand reaching for his backpack, and an order to follow him into the beach house.

Harry had been quick to obey.

"Your rucksack is pretty damn heavy, mister." The boy complained, and Harry— who was too busy staring at the boys face to notice that his too big backpack was being carried by this too dainty lad, muttered stupidly, "You have freckles.."

Louis threw his head back, the sides of his pink lips stretching into a wide smile, revealing white teeth that aren't at all perfectly aligned, and says "Yes, it's because I spend my days out in the sunshine too much. You won't see it from any of my other family members. Only me." Louis beams as he says that, and Harry could only think of that time when he was younger; when he had stared at the sun for too long. But this smile didn't hurt his eyes like how the sun did, instead it only made him feel warmer. Nostalgic almost. "Because I'm special like that." The boy adds proudly, throwing Harry's bag on the floor, careless of whether or not it had important things in there, breakable things.

But Harry was already too mesmerized to care.

•••

Maybe it had started after Louis had outdebated both him and his (Louis') own father on a topic that a 16 year old shouldn't be too informed about.

Not to speak in prejudice, but back when Harry was his age, he only knew a little bit about Michelangelo's sculptures, or about the momentous changes within architectural designs. He knew books, yes he did. But mostly Harry knew booze, and girls, and more girls.

Louis was such a beautiful intellectual. Here he thought he would only be a face to admire, but hearing him explain and deliver trivial facts about a topic Harry couldn't even give enough of a shit about before to really look into it, made Harry uneasy. Intimidated, almost. Intimidated by this pretty blue eyed boy with the sun-kissed skin and the ruffly brown hair.

When Louis spoke, he spoke with such nonchalance, with such a cool demeanor, as if he wasn't one-upping all the adults in the room. Every syllable he uttered coming from the tip of his tongue with ease; all the while making lazy hand gestures. And Harry had thought, wow, this kid, he was such a beauty, had so much grace.

Harry was staying with them for one particular reason: Louis' father was not only a professor, but a published author too. And reading Harry's work during his college years made the man realize Harry's potential. Enough to take him in and be his friend-slash-mentor-slash-colleague for the entirety of six weeks. He would let Harry write his heart out, all the while guiding him throughout the process. In return Harry would be his unpaid editor; responsible for revising manuscripts and the like before sending them out to be published.

And then there was the lunches spent out at the porch, where Louis would sit right next to him, so close, skin touching skin, wearing these little frayed shorts that showcased a birthmark by the side of his left thigh, and Harry's eyes would always trail down the length of his legs, salivating over how golden and smooth they look, and then it would dawn on him— later on, after a couple more lunches, that despite the boy's tan, the color of his palm was still a little pale, and the moment he noticed this, was also the same time where Louis had brought his palm up and slapped at Harry's forearm lightly, playfully, and said with a sly smile, "Stop staring at me, creep."

It wasn't his fault that Louis was so dainty, so fairy-like. Harry couldn't help himself.

Despite the petite size of Louis, his personality happened to be large, all-consuming. When he talked, people listened. When he laughed, people looked. He is so alive, so care-free, so childlike in spirit.

Perhaps it had started when Harry had walked past his room, and noticed that his door was slightly ajar, the quiet hum of Nancy Sinatra playing through the otherwise tranquilized hallway. Maybe Harry was a creep then, when he took a peek inside the room and saw Louis, swaying his hips softly with his eyes closed, clutching a single red rose tightly onto his chest, like it was his very own dance partner. He had moved so slow, and Harry had noticed that he was wearing this precious little white socks with the bows at the ankles, and his fucking pale yellow sweater reaching his mid-thigh.

Or it could have started at the beach. Or that time when Louis had insisted on going with him for his routinely morning jogs, only to demand Harry to carry him not even halfway into it.

"Louis," he huffed, a small smile plastered on his face that he was desperately trying so hard to hide. "How can I jog when I have to give you a piggyback ride? Hm?"

"You can," Louis promised, so sure of himself, like he always is, "I'm tired and I don't want to jog no more."

"Lou—"

"Please?" He pouted. Louis fucking pouted and Harry was putty in his hands. How can he say no to that face?

Harry had sighed and ten minutes later, they were back at the house, with Harry depositing Louis carefully onto the couch. And Louis, the little shit, the beauty, had blessed him with a quick kiss to his chin as a thank you, before dashing past Harry and running along upstairs without another word.

Harry wasn't exactly sure when Louis became his muse, his favorite sonnet— but whether it was during the first week or the first day, all Harry knew was that still, to this day, Louis was and will always be, his most heavenly sin. His eternity.

•••

On the fifth day of his stay, whilst he was sat out the porch, on the little swinging chair the Tomlinson's had, trying to write, write, write— he heard laughter. Not just from one person, but a multitude by the sound of it.

As he looked up; he saw Louis, in his trunks, wearing a plain white tee, running around the ocean with friends by his side.

And what Harry could only think, over and over again, (that still to this day, he always repeats when he thinks of him) is _angel_.

The sun was blaring angrily, slathering Louis with beams of light, and the waves were continuously splashing around him, under him, over him, all the while he was jumping up and down, kicking at the waters with tiny feet, giggling loudly like a kid, and then suddenly Harry was writing, no longer stuck. Paragraphs after paragraphs written about sun kissed skin, about ocean eyes, about how the clouds seems to part in worship for this beautiful boy.

And then eye contact was made. Even as far Louis is from him at the moment it was obvious that he was looking directly at Harry. There was a pause. For a moment the waves had suspended and the wind was quiet. Harry's breath was shaky, each exhale released from an open mouth.

That's when Louis threw his arms up, yelling, running towards him, a grin on his face.

Harry stood, slowly, dumbly, and just as Louis jumped the steps and into his arms, Harry laughed. Surprised by the action, but nonetheless delighted by it too.

Harry puts him down a bit apprehensively. And smoothed his hands up and down Louis' arms, feeling goosebumps rise from the boys wet skin, both of them smiling tenderly at each other. This close, Harry could almost count all the freckles the scatters across the boy's pink cheeks and on his nose too, made more obvious by his time spent running under the sun.

"So," Louis said, blowing the word out. "You should come with us. My friends and I, you know, we're going exploring."

"Exploring?" Harry cocked his head, "haven't you lived here all your life?"

"Yeah," he replied, and even though Louis didn't roll his eyes, the tone of his voice suggests that he did. "But there's always something new, Harold, even when you think you've seen everything, there's always a nook and cranny you've missed out on. You just have to open your eyes and see."

"Aren't I a little too old to be hanging with a bunch of kids?"

Louis fumed then, always hating it when someone called him a kid (even though most of the time he acts like one) and he had stomped at Harry's foot (didn't do much damage considering his feet was little and bare) and he had walked away with a pout, leaving Harry with a glare and a very rude hand gesture.

For two days Louis had been cold to him. When they would pass by each other, there would only be goodmorning's and such, or an exchange of shallow pleasantries.

And Harry had wanted to say sorry, that he hadn't meant to offend Louis, but also ask him why he did get offended by what he had said when it was, essentially, the truth.

Fortunately after another two days Louis had come around and asked Harry to accompany him to a bike ride, and Harry had immediately accepted the invitation.

"Henry Miller," Harry whistled, as they walk to the entrance of the library, seeing a light scatter of people inside from the windows, "I was about to visit this place too."

"Well, I'm glad."

"Glad? Why?" A chuckle from Harry.

"I'm glad that you didn't visit it without me." Louis smiled at him that Louis smile, the smile that Harry believed was reserved only for him. All the while a light blush coats his cheeks.

"I'm glad I didn't too."

They spent that afternoon caught up in books, reading aloud different kinds of poetry to each other, laughing at people who gave them nasty stares. And by the end of the night Harry had brought with him to his bed a worn out copy of _The Dharma Bums_ , smiling as he drifted off to sleep with only images of blue eyes in his mind.

•••

Louis was temperamental.

One moment they were sweet with each other, mutual attraction palpable, and then the next Harry would feel a gaze directed at him, and when he would whip his head up and look back at the boy, he'd stagger as two icy blue orbs stares up at him with such trepidation, such cruelty.

The moment Harry looks back however, Louis would just give him this forced little smile, and in typical Louis fashion would just bolt away.

Maybe that's how Harry found himself flirting with Louis' cousin, Maria, at that barbecue Mark had hosted.

She kinda looked like Louis, but her eyes were a bit more navy, and her hair was more blonde than Louis' light brunette fringe.

And when she smiled Harry didn't feel like he had been kicked at the stomach like how Louis' smile made him feel.

But Harry had drank a couple of beers, yeah, and it dawned on him that he hadn't had a decent fuck for over a month now.

So there they were, bodies grinding against each other, Harry whispering filth into her ear, and her giggling cutely, interestedly.

But when Harry opens his eyes, he sees Louis dancing with his friend, jumping all over and whipping his head from side to side, his eyes closed and his lips extended into a sort of lazy smile, but wait, no, this wasn't a smile, because Harry had memorized what Louis looked like when he smiles, the way his eye shape changes, the way his cheeks gets wider, but this— this was more like a smirk.

And Harry watches him, his body coming to a halt, his partner Maria turning to face him, Harry putting his arms glumly around her, eyes still watching Louis with predatory hunger.

When Louis looks back at Harry, he licks at his satin lips, as if daring Harry to desire him. And more than anything Harry did, Harry wanted him more than he had wanted anything ever.

And when Louis' lithe finger beckoned him closer, he ditched Maria with a distracted kiss to her temple, walking slowly to Louis.

"Dance with me," Louis had asked, putting his arms around Harry's neck, and Harry had pressed their bodies together tightly, no escape, no escape, and more than anything Harry wanted skin-on-skin. Harry wanted to take him, right there, in front of his father, his cousins, his friends, and declare to them that Louis was his, and his alone.

Harry, in his intoxication, began whispering into Louis' ear, about all that he wanted to do to him, spilling his desires to the boy, loving the sound of Louis' breath hitching, and when Louis had asked him just what Harry intended to do with him given the chance, Harry had said _everything_.

He'd fuck him, and he'd never stop, and he'd kiss him all the time, passionate and unyielding, doesn't matter if their mouths bleed against each other, if their bodies become so raw.

And he'd do for him everything Louis would ask, just say the word, because he liked doing things for him, will do anything for him, because he liked how he smiles, all his smiles; the big ones and the little ones, and he remembers how Louis liked it when he would play the guitar, and he told him that if he wanted to hear him play more tunes then just ask, and he will play for him until the skins of his fingers wear off, and he will sing for him until his lungs gives out.

And even if he returns to ice in the morning, to his apathetic state, Harry does not mind. Just spend with me a little bit of your time. All I want is you. I want you the best. I want you more than anyone else.

I'll never forget this, he thought, I'll never forget you.

•••

Then came that cloudy July afternoon.

Harry was just in bed, writing like he usually does, when Louis had barge in so suddenly, startling Harry to sit up. Again there was no exchange of hi's, of how are you's. Rather the boy had made his way to Harry's bed, sitting close to Harry himself, trying to read Harry's personal journal. Not a word coming from his pretty little mouth, all the while his breath is fanning right at the slope of Harry's ear.

Shivers rake into his skin, even in this sticky California heat Louis manages to make him shudder like the cold winter wind.

Harry immediately closes his journal, attempting to shield it from the prying eyes of the boy.

Louis giggles, laying in Harry's bed with absolutely no regard for Harry's personal space.

And Harry liked this, having Louis so close, in his bed.

They were the only ones here, in the house, Louis' family spending the day shopping and whatnot. And Harry had thought that Louis was with them too. But he isn't, because he's here now, with Harry.

"Why aren't you with them?"

"Because." Louis replied with finality, closing his eyes as he spreads out his arms on Harry's bed.

Harry can't pretend that Louis' little body didn't looked so fuckable, so sweet laying all spread out, and Harry thinks that he wouldn't mind spreading his fingers over Louis' stomach, or into Louis' hole, opening him up for his cock, making him writhe for him, cry for him, screa—

"Because I wanted to be with you." He said it so simply, one eye peeking at Harry.

In his journal Harry had written about Louis' eyes, the color of them, how they looked when he smiled, or when he cried, or when he was glaring at him. He had been trying to make sense of it, of his eyes, and the first word he had thought to describe it was fire.

Fire that spread all over Harry's belly when Louis would gaze at him like this. It wasn't a raging fire, not a violent one, but it was paralyzing, shocking, giving out fear and panic, like one more minute of this and I will die if I don't get to touch you, but I'd sooner die than touch you now.

Fire like a pleading that said, please, please, tell me I'm wrong, tell me I'm imagining all of this, because this cannot be possibly true for you as well, because if it is, then you are the cruelest boy alive.

Because I want to be with you too, Louis. Because I want to be with you on this bed, in my clothes or out of it, and I want you to tell me you want me too. And I want to memorize all the curves of your precious body with my hands, and I want to kiss that birthmark at the side of your left thigh. I want to know the exact count of your freckles, and I want to drown in your eyes, and burn for them too.

And if you tell me you feel for me half what I feel for you, I will never stop. I would rather die than stop. I wouldn't let you tell me no.

And assure me that I wasn't dreaming that night you snuck into my room, past midnight, maybe thinking that I was asleep. And you had laid on top of me, ear pressed into my chest, and I had pretended to be asleep. Because I didn't want to scare you, because when I moved I knew you would run. Your body pressed to mine felt like home, Louis. And this couldn't possibly be a dream, this better not be a dream, because this felt like coming home after years of being away. Like everything had fallen into place and you suddenly realized that twenty two goddamn years of your life was spent fiddling with the wrong lock, with the wrong combination.

Then Louis was pulling Harry's body towards himself, down onto the bed as well, pressing his back to the mattress. Louis swung his leg up and tangled it with Harry's, snuggling his face into Harry's neck, his hand gripping the front of Harry's shirt tightly. Falling asleep with his body engulfing Harry's.

•••

Of course the next day when Harry had roused from his bed alone, Harry had predicted that Louis' change of behavior would be present.

Whilst eating breakfast Louis acted as if he was blind to Harry, not even sparing him the mercy of a glance.

Louis' mother, a lovely woman named Josie, who liked wearing capris and sun hats even inside the house; had this thing where she wanted everyone to have seconds. Time and time again she'd persuade Harry into eating more, into drinking more juice, and once when Harry had politely declined suddenly the table went silent.

It was her thing, Louis would tell him, she liked over feeding people. He'd say, it makes her feel more motherly.

And in this particular morning Louis, who knew to always accept his mother's persuasion, had said, "No, please mama, I am meeting someone at the café."

Harry spat out his orange juice.

"Who?" Harry had demanded, uncaring of whether or not he was obvious with his feelings for the boy.

It was obvious that Louis was playing deaf.

For three days he scarcely saw Louis, and for three days Harry had suffered.

Not knowing whether he'd show up for dinner was torture, seeing the empty chair where Louis typically sat was torture. But not daring to ask where he was, was the real ordeal.

Harry wanted to go back to his hometown so he wouldn't have to deal with this anymore. Harry wanted to be done with him. Harry wanted to hurt himself, to scar his face so that Louis would ask him why, why would you that, why the fuck would anyone do that to themselves, and Harry wanted Louis to assure him that no, Harry, you didn't have to that, because I am yours, yours, yours..

•••

When morning came Harry found him lying on the the sand fiddling clumsy at a book.

For a second Harry was tempted to fall back to the habit of ignoring him, as he had done for the past three days. But seeing him here now, seemed a particularly hard task to do.

"You've been busy." He said, aiming to sound casual. But the urgency in his voice was palpable. Harry never knew he could sound so peevish.

"I have." Came his nonchalant answer.

"Are you heading into town later?"

"I might. Did you want me to get you something?"

"No." Harry said, "but I was wondering if I could accompany you. I do have have some letters I intend to send out."

A sigh from Louis.

"I mean," Harry persists, "if it was okay with you. If not I could just go on my own. Don't feel inclined."

Louis doesn't answer. Flipping a page in his book. Nausea the title said. Harry had read that book before.

"Why do you like me so much, Harry?"

He looked at him.

"I don't." Harry insisted. "I don't like you, Louis. I _worship_ you."

And Louis gave him a smile.

•••

Between Louis' room and the guest room where Harry stayed, there was a balcony that connects them both to eachother.

And in that summer this balcony became theirs. The balcony that shuts the whole world out. When everyone else was asleep they wasted their time out here conversing about everything, and about nothing all at once.

During nights spent outside this balcony, where exhilarating winds blow so benevolently, Louis became softer.

Pliant, almost. Leaning into every touch Harry would give him. When Harry would cradle Louis' cheek with his palm, Louis would press further into it. As if yielding every muscle he has to Harry, like saying, 'I'm yours, take me, I'm just yours.'

And this was one of the things which mystified Harry the most. Because no matter how loud Louis is, or how stubborn, there was this part of him that yearns to be touched like this. To be comforted like this. And Harry had watched him interact with a lot of people; friends, family— but it seems as if this kind of treatment was permitted to Harry, and to Harry alone.

And even if they were two dissimilar beings, this was one thing that transcended their differences within each other. Because as much as he needed Louis, Louis also needed him.

This particular night, Louis had an immense need to be held. When Harry had slip out the balcony from his french window, Louis had immediately ran to him, pressing his face into Harry's chest.

"Where were you, where were you, where were you.."

"I'm right here, baby, shh."

"Where were you.. I've been waiting for you for half an hour now.."

"I finished up some paperworks, darling, it's done now. I'm here now, sweet angel. Will you let me see your eyes please?"

Louis hesitantly tilts his chin up, delicate eyebrows furrowed.

He was so beautiful it broke Harry's heart.

"Don't let me go, please don't."

"Never." Harry promised, and he meant it. He meant it then, he still means it now. How can Louis think that was possible? That Harry could just let him go?

"What happened, baby?" Harry seldom called Louis pet names, mainly because he was skeptical on whether or not he had the right to. Louis confused him, the drastic change of his demeanor. Harry didn't know where to place himself most times.

But when Louis gets like this; the hesitation vanishes. The need to protect this beautiful boy outbounds. This beautiful boy who is everything that matters. All that matters.

Louis whined then, and burrowed his face further into Harry's chest.

"Just hold me," came a muffled voice.

•••

Besides Harry's infatuation with Louis' body, he was just as fascinated by his mind.

Louis had an opinion on everything. He'd voice a fact about the Renaissance, and Louis would tell him about the misogyny women had to face back then, like how they were told not to play instruments, because— ''It made their faces look unattractive! Can you believe those people? Disgusting, Harry! If anyone ever told me to stop playing an instrument because my face contorts into a look that they don't like, I'll kick them in the balls, I swear."

He'd ask him if he'd ever heard about Athanasuis Kircher, Giuseppe Belli, and Paul Celen.

"I have."

"I'm almost a decade older than you are and until a few days ago had never heard of any of them. I don't get it."

"What's not to get? Dad's a university professor. I grew up without TV. Get it now?"

Harry loved their little back-and-forth with each other. Louis always wins, of course. He is both quick witted and sarcastic. But Harry never minds. In fact it was one of the many things he admired about him.

Louis had so much energy. So much verve. He is charismatic in a way that could start up a cult, and Harry would follow him. Like he always does. Because he is the sun, the general of an army, and Harry will stick to the heels of his boots incessantly. No matter if he leads him to certain death, Harry would still choose him over anyone else.

Because you have struck my soul, Louis. You are my soul. I have loved none other but you.

•••

Harry liked it best when Louis would fight for him.

Louis was fiery; and he was jealous. Nothing is established between them, other than that Harry wanted Louis and Louis might want him back too.

But their day spent out on the beach made Harry sure that despite Louis' seemingly ever-changing stance on the both of them, Louis felt something for him also.

That Sunday had been all heat, the rays of the sun saturating them and making their bodies sheen in sweat. Harry was lounging by a blanket, cigarette curled up in between his fingers whilst watching Louis and his cousins play volleyball.

Louis was so beautiful under the sun. Despite all the girls wearing their tiny little bikinis Harry could not look at anyone other than him. In his little jersey shorts swung low on his hips, shirt discarded, Harry felt an immense want.

Before Louis, there were only girls. He had never felt attracted to another man before. Had never felt lust to another person who could be branded as a brother. Sure, he's found some boys pretty, but they would never linger in his mind as he took himself in his hand at night, or at the shower.

But he'd never felt like this too, so crazy and out of control with his liking, so turned on by someone simply for breathing.

And seeing Louis like this, half-naked with his skin rosy and dewy from the sun, Harry becomes delirious with want.

And when the sky begins to blush and the waves only sound a low hum, Harry finds himself half-hard at the way Louis dances so exotically by the fire.

And that's how Maria finds him too.

"I'd ask you to dance but you might leave me again halfway into it for my cousin."

"Maria," Harry stood up, trying swiftly to adjust himself underneath his shorts, and went to give her a kiss on the cheek.

"He's just sixteen you know," she said it with a smirk, teasingly.

"And not my type." Harry assures her with a lie, taking a long swing from his beer.

"Prove it." She smirked at him, feigning coyness.

Maria was a stunning woman, with firm breasts and a wildness to her hair. But Harry hadn't even thought of anyone else other than Louis since he got here. He found it impossible that someone could measure up to Louis, be as radiant as Louis.

But right now Louis is with his friend, and it seems as though Harry doesn't exist in his world again, so why should Harry feel the need to be loyal to him when it was clear his feelings weren't reciprocated.

Just a dance, Harry thought. He wouldn't take it further than that, because despite Louis' apathy, he still didn't want Maria, or Louis' pretty friend Emily, or any other girls on this beach, or out the streets, or in the malls right now, because all of them combined cannot possibly add up to Louis alone.

Just as Harry takes her by her waist, he is being pulled away by dainty hands.

"Maria," Louis sneered, all the while he has this sweet smile that screams fake fake fake, but nonetheless still beautiful. "I heard that Mama called for you inside the house. Something about your mother."

"Why would my—"

"Well clearly I don't know. What, do you think I know everything? Just go."

Louis doesn't even wait for Maria to respond, instead pulls Harry by the arm and away from her with a decisive huff. When they are an adequate space away from her, Harry stops walking only to be glared at by Louis and told to follow.

So he did. They walked until Louis' companions looked like nothing but ants, and then they kept on walking until they went into the trees. When Louis had decided that there was enough space between them and the rest of the world, he had pushed at Harry's chest. His face scrunched up in anger. And Harry wanted more than anything to take him there, by the trees. And assure to him that Louis is the only one, his only one.

"Don't be jealous, baby." Harry said with a smirk, smug about that fact.

"I am not! And don't call me baby." Louis huffed, "Don't you know she's a slut? A slut!"

Harry decided to play, because he liked this Louis, the Louis who gets jealous over him.

"So? That means it'd be an easy fuck."

And not expecting the pout of Louis' lips, the shine of impending tears from his eyes, Harry falters.

"Baby.." Harry attempts to gather him in his arms, only to be faced with rejection. With Louis trying to twist his way out of the grip Harry has on his elbows.

"Louis, listen."

A pouty indignation.

"Lou, hear me out, darling,"

Nothing.

"Baby, goddamnit!"

Finally, he stills.

"I am not interested in light little flings, or only skin deep attractions. There is one thing I'm interested in, and that is getting to know you, Louis. Finding out every detail about you. I know only a little. But I want to know everything. You are the most perfect human being I've ever met, the most beautiful, and I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone else. Is it not obvious? Do you not see just how much I would bleed for you! Jesus Christ, there is nothing left for anyone else. You are all that I want. And even if you are the most indecisive, stubborn, indifferent brat I've ever met! And even though you fucking ignore me time and time again, that will not change. So don't doubt me, Louis. Do not doubt me when it comes to you."

Silence.

"I am not a brat."

"You are!"

"You're just a jerk."

"Well this jerk is about to kiss you."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"It's the only thing that does."

"Kiss me then."

The first time Harry kissed him, he had done it viciously. He didn't want it to be soft, he didn't want Louis to feel as though his want for him was only fleeting, gentle. Harry wanted it to be honest, he wanted Louis to know just how desirous he was of him. He wanted the press of his lips saying, this solidifies us, this means you are mine, and I am yours. He wanted it to say, all my dreams lately has been of you, please don't be with someone else. He wanted it to say, I will never let you drift away from me. I don't ever want to lose you.

And when Harry had parted Louis' sweet little mouth for an entry for his tounge, Louis was pliant against him. Louis' lips tasted like forbidden fruit, like the greatest sin he will ever commit. And if this made him Adam then so be it, to live a life in sin with Louis is better than going to heaven without him.

Because this, right here, is his paradise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, please. Leave kudos behind if you enjoyed this! :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” –F.G.L

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until you see the word PRESENT; the events from the first part of the book has not yet transpired. The POV in this part will shift— the first half will be told entirely by the perspective of Louis', and then after that, Harry's.

**IT WAS** easier to pretend he didn't exist.

It just was. It was easier to pretend he didn't exist, that Louis didn't care— rather than admit out loud that the second day they met; as they walked along the shores that afternoon with their feet aligned; left to left, striking the ground at the same time, leaving behind their footprints in the sand, Louis had returned that same evening and in secret, placed his foot where Harry had placed his.

Louis couldn't deny Harry's attractiveness; his pecs, those green eyes, a dimple. His mother had taken it upon herself to call Harry "superstar". And he was so undeniably charming too. Even when he was stumbling on his words like words weren't supposed to be his specialty. He was to be a writer, after all.

Louis wasn't oblivious, and he wasn't naive either. He knew that Harry wanted him, could feel it in the way he stares at him even with his back turned. Could see it in his eyes when Louis would talk about literature and architecture and every other tures there was. And often times Louis would find himself blushing at this fact.

But Harry was old.

Well, not like _old_ -old but he was over the age of eighteen and Louis was under the age of eighteen and he's heard people say that older people always takes advantage of the young'uns. So he didn't want anything to do with him, okay, what a pervert, why doesn't he just leave Louis alone and go mess around with someone his age. Yuck.

But there's something different about it too. Something astounding, about the way he'd look at Louis.

  •••

He didn't know how it happened.

Every morning since he was nine; tea has to come first before anything but somehow Harry had taken its place and it felt good. Better even.

It drove him insane.

Harry who laughed at all his jokes. Harry whose voice has been echoing in the corners of his mind since he'd said that thing he said about Louis' freckles their first day together.

It drove him insane.

Maybe it was because he made it so easy to laugh with him and to smile and to stay awake at night tracing the stars with their fingertips wondering, pleading that this was more than just sexual tension. That the electricity between them resonates into something bigger than attraction.

But, goddamnit, Louis was not supposed to think about what Harry could possibly be thinking about right now, if he was thinking of him too— does he touch himself when he thinks of him? Does he wonder about how Louis' hand seems so tiny compared to his, yet when his fingers slides throughout his palm and into the spaces between his own they fit together like birdcages?

Polite indifference. That was the way to go.

He'd have to ignore how Harry talks. How he drawls out each syllable and how his barritone voice seems to come from deep in his stomach. And he'd have to stop asking Harry questions about his favorite books, and pieces of poetry and authors he's come to admire because this would indefinately lead Louis down the rabbit hole deeper than he's already in right now.

God, why did Harry have to make things so difficult? Why couldn't he just be vapid and stupid like everyone else? Why couldn't he just be Louis' age?

It was difficult. Having to pretend that Louis was unaware of him. Sometimes Harry would catch Louis staring at him and Louis would just bring his eyebrows down, as if saying—"yeah, you caught me. What're you going to do about it?" He'd be the first one to look away too, of course. He couldn't let Harry catch him turn himself pink too.

There are days where he'd slip, though. Where he'd be a little too flirty with the older man, a little more touchy with his hands. But he couldn't help himself.

Louis wanted him to see the flowers in his eyes and hear the songs playing in his head.

He knew though, that his inclination to turn from sunshine to ice was something that was tormenting for Harry.

It wasn't a push-pull tactic. Louis was just confused is all. He wanted Harry but he didn't want to break. He was not to be someone's kink. An indulgence. A summer excitement.

He didn't want this thing between them to mean more to him than it does for Harry.

•••

Louis wanted Harry to know his world.

His mind— his favorite songs. The music he'd dance to, the musicians he became obsessed with.

So when he saw Harry by the ocean writing in his journal like he always does; he tapped at his shoulder, persuading Harry to get into the living room where the old record player of his parents dusted away and made him sit on the couch as Louis pulled up an old record he loved so dearly and treasured so deeply in his heart.

"Have you heard this record?"

"Would you prefer a liar or a loser?"

"What?" Louis laughs.

"I want to impress you and say I have." Harry shrugged, smiling small. "But I'll be honest and say I haven't."

Louis giggles. "How charming."

They sat quietly as Leonard Cohen serenades them; both of them staring directly at their feet. Toe-to-toe. Bare feet against frayed espadrilles.

 _I need you, I don't need you_  
_Yeah I need you, I don't need you  
And all of that jiving around..._

•••

"He is so hot."

"I know! Louis' mom calls him 'superstar' and it's just so true! He looks like a young Mick Jagger or something."

"Mick Jagger wasn't even hot though."

"I said or something didn't I?"

"I wish he was staying at my place— we'd be banging all summer long. I'd even let him do me in my parents bed."

"You're such a slut, Maria, honestly!"

"What you haven't thought of it? He's like, so tall and his hands are so big! Yum..."

A pause in the conversation as his cousins playfully slaps at each other's arm whilst erupting into a fit of giggles.

"So Louis..."

Louis snapped his head back to look at Hannah. Looking up from his book and folding the tip of the page in his hand. Maria stands from where she was and moves to crowd at Louis' space, pinching his cheek lightly.

"Qui qui qui," he grins, pointing his tongue at his cousin.

"You and Harry seem to be awfully close.."

"Well we have to be don't you think? I mean we are living under the same roof." Louis cut in quickly.

"Don't get too defensive baby! I wasn't trying to call you out on your too-obvious crush on the guy. Sheesh."

A snicker from Hannah.

"I told you not to call me that, Maria. And I don't have a crush on him. Couldn't possibly give a damn about him."

"Is that why you've been jumping into his arms every chance you get..." Hannah sing-songs.

Louis blushed terribly at that. He didn't think he was that transparent. "Shut up."

"Whatever— look. I was just wondering you know? If he likes me. Because, like. I like him. So."

Bless her terrible education.

"I don't know. You'd have to ask him." He stood up and walked away. Ignoring the cat calls from his cousins.

•••

He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. Outside the french door of Harry's bedroom. Hand poised to knock. Heart beating erratically.

He shouldn't be this nervous and he most certainly shouldn't knock.

But he was and he did.

"Lou? It's the middle of the night." Harry whispered, as he stepped out the door and into the balcony. Bare footed, espadrilles discarded. Sleep worn eyes and disgruntled curls.

"Uh- sorry. I just..." Louis eyes landed on everything but Harry's. He began stepping back. Retreating back to his homebase. "I just wanted to say goodnight. Right. Bye."

A hand circles his wrist. Louis wonders if Harry could feel his pulse beat. _Beat. Beat_. He wondered if the palm of Harry's hand pressed tightly to the paper-thin skin of Louis' wrist was warm enough to burn him. To scar him where he touched him so he could trace the bruises later on and remember this moment where Louis succumbed and chose to tell a truth rather than a lie.

"Please don't go. Are you cold? Here, wear my hoodie."

Louis couldn't even protest as Harry tugged the hoodie down his neck, as Harry smoothed down the material over Louis' waists, his back, his arms.

"Aren't you going to be cold now? At least I had on a sweater. You're just wearing a henley."

"I don't care about that. I just want you to be okay."

Maybe in this moment Louis could blame the wind for how his cheeks reddened.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I haven't seen you all day— and it's just. I'm happy." Harry shakes his head. "You're just. You're so —fuck."

"Excuse me?" Louis laughs.

"You're. Louis.... You're. _Louis_."

"I am."

"Fuck! You just make me so.."

Louis could not contain his laughter.

"You know, Harry. For someone who wants to become a writer you aren't that good with your words."

Harry laughs, covers his face with both hands. "It's just with you though."

"So it's my fault?"

"Partly. How the hell do you expect me to say something meaningful when someone as pretty as you comes stumbling at my door at fuck'o clock in the morning?"

"Smooth." He blushed.

"Yeah..." Harry laughs small. "I mean it though."

Silence.

"Fuck'o clock. That's definitely one for the dictionaries."

"I'm sorry. I'm being inappropriate again aren't I? I——"

_Could he sense how timid I was? Could he feel my nerves as they electrocute around the air?_

"No," Louis interjected quickly. "You're not."

"I just don't want you to ha—"

"I don't," Louis shook his head. "I don't hate you."

"Lou—,"

Louis threw himself into Harry's arms. And this made sense. Harry made sense to him, yet nothing made sense at all.

"I don't hate you." He repeated with his cheek pressed on Harry's chest. Cold skin against warm fabric.

_I knew I had to cut you out as soon as possible. But before that let me have this moment of peace with you. In your arms. So readily acquiescent. And it was in this moment I knew— that I'd be willing to yield if you pushed. Had already yielded. Was yours, all yours..._

•••

Back when Louis was about fourteen years old he had picked up an old book from the shelf of his mother. It was intriguing and at the time he could not properly understand what was written within it.

But now— as Harry's lips grazes the lobe of his ear, whispering confessions on his skin, each pant of his words sinking deep into his pores— he understood.

He understood how the author said that some moments were so intense, _red hot_ , so condensed in itself that the past and the future can no longer exist.

"I'd fuck you." Harry panted. "I'd fuck you, and I'd never stop. And I'd kiss you all the time."

And his words made him shiver, the presence of Harry behind him, of him being as intoxicated as he was intoxicating, of his body pressed so tightly against Louis', provoked maddening sensations within him as the night dispersed.

Louis couldn't exactly convey how profoundly he felt for Harry. He just had this thing about him that drove him insane. He seemed to be hard-pressed and fragile at the same time. He is eternal, enigmatic in a sense. He is a bright light and Louis didn't want to be the reason he burned out.

There were just too many consequences.

•••

For once the sea lay completely still in the sunlight. For once Louis let himself forget about everything that _wasn't_ and instead focused on everything that was.

"Sometimes you like someone so much that they become this unreachable thing. Less human. More God."

"Is that such a bad thing, Louis?"

"It probably is." Louis replied. "How do you know if you like someone -actually like them- because they are theirselves, rather than what you perceive them to be? I mean if you only think highly of them in the first place."

Harry hummed. "You're in your head again. When you like someone you like them. Not everything has to be so complicated."

"What I'm trying to say," Louis breathes. "Is that I don't want to be someone's idea of perfect. I don't want to be just an idea. I am a thinking being after all. I don't wish to be cuddled all the time and told how pretty I am. I want to be wanted for all the things that I am not, for all the ugliness in me and my flaws. Not despite of it."

Harry stepped up into Louis' space and reached for his hand, interweaving it with his own.

"You have this intensity," Harry said. "You are so radiant. I've never met anyone nearly as smart as you. Genius-like even. I don't think you're perfection redefined. But I think all your imperfections are what makes you so interesting. You feel so deeply. Like you live vicarously through your emotions. I can't even begin to explain it."

How painful this is. How incredibly beautiful is the betrayal of Louis' heart in this moment. Somehow he knew, that if he looked at their shadows in this moment he would find two shadows kissing. A kiss lost in the air. Wishful, wistful.

"Your soul— it is the greatest soul I've ever known." Harry continued. "And I am hopelessly endeared by you. And even in the little trickle of time we've known eachother. I've never thought I could ever have this reverence, this admiration towards someone my whole life. You are _everything_ , Louis. You are not lacking in anything and even if you don't want to hear it I'll say it— your ugliness is still beautiful to me."

Louis looked at him. The sun must have trickled down Harry's neck and bathed him with _this_ afterglow.

"Harry Styles," he whistled, "the writer."

•••

H A R R Y  
( **PRESENT** — _somewhere by the trees._.)

"Are you just kissing me to forget about Maria?"

Harry laughs airly. "No," he says, pausing to bring his lips towards Louis' again, his words spoken directly into Louis' mouth. "I'm doing this because your lips has been haunting my dreams for the past month," He grabs at the smallest part of Louis' back, bringing his body impossibly closer to his. "Because everytime you roll your eyes at me all I've been thinking about was _this_ , everytime you pout at me and snarl and say all those intelligent things that you say all I could think about was _this_ ," Harry hopes that the words he speaks slithers down Louis' throat and engulfs his lungs, his body, his soul. "I've been wanting to do this since I found out about your love for old music, how you dance so gracefully with each beat, how you like to join me in my jogs just so I can carry you back home. I've wanted to do this everytime we talked outside _our_ balcony. Our spot away from everyone else." He presses a kiss at the corner of Louis' mouth. "So no. I'm not doing this because of Maria— I'm doing this simply because I no longer have the willpower to _not_ do this anymore."

Louis pulled back and smiled and his face was heartbreaking.

God— Harry feels so happy it's gross. It's devistating. It's beautiful and it's mad and it's so fucked. He's holding Louis so close to him and he is not letting go.

 _I have a collosal need for you,_ he thinks. _And I cannot be apart from you anymore..._

"Why are you always giving me speeches, hm?"

"Don't even pretend that you don't like it, Lou." Harry teases, "baby.."

Louis pinched at Harry's collarbones. "Told you not to call me that.." he murmurs with his face pressed into Harry's chest.

Harry chuckles. He pulls Louis' face towards him, nosing at his cheek, blowing a raspberry. "Baby, baby, baby, _ooh_ ," he sings, "baby, baby, baby, _nooo_.."

Louis giggles, hiding his face into Harry's palm. "You're such a jerk.."

"Oops," Harry laughs. "You're blushing, angel. You like it when I flirt with you?"

"Shut up."

•••

They're insatiable after that.

Before, when eating breakfast, the most they did was engage in pleasantries with each other. Often times just listening to Louis' father talk about statues and books and the news and sometimes they'd find themseleves locking eyes with the other only to quickly look away.

Now, their feet are engaged in battle, playing with each other. Toes twirling and carressing at their ankles. Eye contact between every bite of their meal. Hidden laughter caught between teeth.

They kiss all the time. Walking together with their hands held tightly. Harry tugging at him and bringing him into seclusion. Making out with laughter in their kisses. Can't get enough of each other.

Sometimes they'd be in Louis' bed. Lazy kisses being exchanged. And it's not nearly as sexual as it sounds, is the thing. They just simply— melt together. Lips colliding easily, falling into each other. The inevitability of this swallowing them up. So caught up in each other they hardly have the time to breath anymore.

They sleep together now. They don't fuck. Hadn't had the chance to, didn't feel the need to. And although Harry could not help most times but to wonder how Louis would feel like around him, spread out for him —he never pushes him. Never lets his hands stray farther down than to the small of Louis' back. Never took the initiative to peel the clothes off his body. No, this was enough for him. Having Louis beside him. Feeling Louis' breath against his neck as he slept. The priveledge of getting to kiss this beautful boy goodnight was enough. Of waking up to the sight of Louis' hair so perfectly disheveled was enough.

They greet the sun together too. Waking up at dawn to watch as the sun rises, Harry takes Louis' hand in his and they don't talk. Sitting still and stirring up the comfortable silence that makes everything around them seem lovlier than it already is.

Harry feels so despicably full. Louis makes him feel like his stomach could burst any moment and engulf the air with everything beautiful inside him.

•••

' _Meet me after midnight. My room_.'

For the first time in the past week, Harry awoke without Louis in his arms. Just a note taped to his forehead. He couldn't help but feel panicked. Endless questions of what if's playing in his head that makes his anxiety course through his bloodstream and spread like a virus.

He spent his time with Louis' father. Doing the necessary work of reading letters and signing documents for him. Editing finished works and sending them out to different publishers.

They talk too. Somehow Harry doesn't feel as guilty as he should whilst conversing with the father of his underage boyfriend. God. It sounds so wrong. It is so wrong. But somehow the thought of not being with Louis overwrites it.

He should feel sick. He should feel guilt. But much as the presence of Mark and Josie pains him, the thought of the absence of Louis kills him.

It's bittersweet and it's toxic and it has the potential to be poisonous but it's also so pure and beautiful and it felt right. This felt right. Louis felt right even when nothing else does.

Harry couldn't possibly let him go. Didn't ever want to. He couldn't walk away from the madness of him. From the sensuality he provoked and the storm of his mind. Everything about him was just so.. fucking addictive.

•••

He stood there. All pretty and silent. His hands twiddling with ends of his favourite pale yellow sweater. Legs bare with his lower lip caught between the trap of his teeth.

His whole being gave out the scent of water lilies. Pure and white and so, so beautiful. Spring and summertime entwined.

Harry smiled at him. He stepped closer. Pressing his thumb to Louis' exposed collarbone. Louis looked up at him wordlessly. He's never seen him so quiet before. He knew though— that Louis wanted so desperately to say something.

But as time lapsed around them with nothing but the deafening silence surrounding them, Harry took his moment and said, "I'm going to kiss you now.."

And then he was kissing him. And it was with reckless abandon. Like he was the only thing real left in this too-big world. Like he was water and Harry was dying of thirst. He felt Louis smile into the kiss as he pulled him closer to his body.

They pull away a moment later. Harry gearing up to say something when;

"I think we've both been deprived of each other long enough."

"Yeah. I've been waiting to see you. When I got up this morning all I could think about was you. Where you could've been, what you were doing.."

Louis laughs timidly. Runs a hand through his hair. "I.. that's not what I'm trying to say, Harry."

It makes Harry pause. His pulse drumming frantic staccatos under his skin. "Baby, are you..." he leaves the question unspoken. Couldn't bare to ask it out loud on the fear of scaring Louis away.

"I want to be with you in every way. I want to experience... _total nakedness_ with you. And I don't mean that in a perverse way. I just... I _just want you so much_ , Harry."

Harry feels his breath stolen away from him. Mouth agape as Louis walks to his bed and sits shyly on the edge of the mattress.

Gazing up at Harry, he spreads his legs an inch apart –an open invitation– and calls for him softly. "Harry.. come here.."

Harry drinks him up with his eyes. Looking him up and down slowly from the rounded balls of his feet through his tan legs, the synch of his waist hidden by the sweater he was wearing that was too big for his petite body, to his neck, to his chin, to his lips, to his blues.

There's a hazy cloud of lust threatening to suffocate Harry's senses as he follows through with Louis' order and inches closer and closer to him. Tentative in his steps. He reaches where Louis sits, barely a space between them anymore, and stops.

He hears Louis inhale as he drops to his knees. Grabbing Louis' ankle softly, he warms the skin up with his hands. Brings it to his lips and kisses the protruded bone carefully.

He looks up at Louis. Seeing as his chest rises and falls with every shuddering breath he exhales. Harry begins to kiss a path from his ankle to his knee. Each kiss more gentle than the last.

"Louis..." he says, testing out the sound of his name in curiosity of his own voice. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as precious as you."

"You're so small, baby.." he blabbers on— and Harry had never been like this. Never vomited words out of his mouth without the pretence of thinking.

He presses a wet kiss on the top of Louis' thigh. "I don't think I've wanted anyone as much as I want you."

Louis lets out a broken giggle. "No speeches, Harry," he says, reaching for Harry's head, he brushes the curls that falls all over his face. "Just kiss me."

He kisses him and kisses him and kisses him some more. Breathing into Louis' open mouth, taking Louis' air from his lungs. His hands grabbing at Louis' waists frantically as the kiss gets deeper and dirtier.

Harry starts standing up. Their lips still locked in a desperate kiss. He locks his arms around Louis and pulls him up. Louis gasping as he wraps his legs on either side of Harry's hips.

They both laugh as Harry trails kisses from the appendage of Louis' neck. Harry laying Louis back down the bed gently as their smile dissipate into small smirks.

Harry begins to undress. Unbuttoning his shirt slowly so that Louis can have the chance to say stop. But he doesn't. Instead he sits up and grab at Harry's belt. Unbuckling it and popping open the button of his slacks. He does all these whilst looking up at Harry.

Harry caresses Louis' cheek softly. He pinches his chin and smiles at him. Louis bites his lips and smiles back. "Kiss me some more.."

Harry cups his face and grants him his request. He leans in and Louis leans in too and their lips meet in the middle.

When Harry's jeans are gone and he's only in his boxers and an open dress shirt, he's got Louis pressed down between his body and the mattress.

The want itches from his stomach and spreads as their tongues touch and move around each other's. His fingers digging into Louis' thighs without a lucid thought.

Harry pulls his arms back to push off his shirt. Getting back down to chase at Louis' lips. He starts to slide Louis' sweater upwards, frantic to feel the naked skin of Louis' abdomen.

When the soft wool of Louis' sweater reaches his ribcage they break apart their kiss. Louis breathing heavily as he pushes Harry away from him gently with his dainty hand pressed on the middle of Harry's chest. They both sit up by their knees. Both watching each other breathe. Just breathe.

Carefully, Louis crosses his arms by the center. His fingers reaching to the ends of his sweater. He pulls it up slowly, eye contact between them never wavering.

He's only in his briefs now. White and tight and somehow even with his near-nakedness he still manages to look so innocent with his hands trying to hide the curve of his belly.

There isn't a single straight line on his body. Each panes so impossibly curved. _This is art in its newest form_ , he thought. He made Michelangelo's David seem nothing more but clay, the birth of Venus painting like kindergarten finger paint.

"What do you want, pretty?" Harry asked. A glint in his eye as he watched as Louis blushes.

Louis tickled his fingers on his bare thighs. "You. Just you."

Harry bit the corner of his bottom lip and pushed his nimble fingers into Louis' silky hair. "And what would you like for me to do, angel?"

"I want you to touch me," Louis breathed. Nuzzling his cheek into Harry's open palm that slid from the knots in his hair to the smoothness of his face.

"I am touching you." He stated. Tracing the jutted bottom lip of Louis' with his thumb.

Louis sighed as he took Harry's thumb into his mouth. Blinking up at Harry with wide innocent eyes. His lips taking his thumb from the tip of his finger to the last knuckle. Harry's breath stuttering as his cock hardens even more so in his boxers.

"I want to taste you," Louis admitted as he releases Harry's thumb with a pop. "I want to take you in my mouth, Harry, please."

Harry sighed as Louis begins to kiss a path down his chest, down his abs and then further still— to the V of Harry's pelvis. He pulls the hem of Harry's boxers down, watching as his length springs up as soon as its set free.

"No," Harry said, sounding pained. "Lay back down, baby. If you took me into your mouth right now it's all going to be over quick."

"But—,"

"Lay down I said." Harry tsked. "Be good for me, angel. Know you can be good just for me."

Louis nods. "For you," He agreed. "Good for you.."

He helped him lay back, holding behind his back as Louis wrapped his legs around him again. Hooking the heels of his feet in a lock around Harry to hold Harry closer. They smile and kiss as Louis stroked his hand to Harry's jaw.

Harry knocked Louis' nose with his as Louis said, "I've never been with anyone before.." he closes his eyes and opens them again, blue pupils looking vulnerable. "Promise me you won't hurt me."

Somehow what he asked for seemed to go beyond than just in sex. "I'd never." Harry replied with finality, with sincerity. He grabs Louis' hand in his and brings up their pinkie fingers. Both of them laughing as they twin their pinkies together.

They're naked now. Their undergarments discarded somewhere along the room. Harry stood up from the edge of the bed as Louis lies down the mattress. Eyes locked as they breath in the air together.

And then Harry begins to move. Slithering his hands on both of Louis' legs as he follows the path of his palm with his eyes. He reaches the inner of Louis' thighs and spreads them.

Harry settles between Louis' open legs face first. Kissing the inside of his left thigh, leaving a patch of saliva as he peers up at Louis. He moves forward a bit more and reaches Louis' balls, all tight and pink and even that part of him is pretty somehow and _jesus_ , Harry is so drunk on Louis' body right now. He licks a stripe at it, short and quick as he looks up at Louis gasping.

"You okay, baby?" He asks. Moving up to press a sweet kiss on Louis' hipbone.

"Okay..." Louis sighed. "M' okay.."

Harry smiled as he hoisted Louis' legs on his shoulders.

He breathes in deeply when his thumbs rests on each side of Louis' cheek. Spreading them out and opening up his ass to take a look. Moaning quietly as he watches Louis' body open up for him. He brings his head back down, desperate to taste Louis where he is most intimate.

"God, Harry!" Louis shrieks. Breathing heavily as his back arches off the mattress in surprise. Harry taking another drag up his rear before flipping Louis over and pressing him down the mattress quickly. Pulling his ass back by his hip and sliding a hand through his spine to his neck, mouth at Louis' ear telling him to keep quiet.

Harry pulls the flesh of Louis' ass open again. Staring at the pink rosebud wet with his spit. He drags his tongue to the cheek of Louis' ass before going back to lick at his core. Tongue pointed to fuck, feel, and taste him. Fluttering his eyes closed as his mouth prods outside the skin of his anus. Feeling as Louis' body shake with the pleasure he's giving him. Addicted to his scent and his body and his being.

He chuckles as Louis begins to move back, unable to keep still. Pressing his ass back towards Harry's face. Earning him a light spank on his cheek for that.

"Keep still, baby."

"I can't, Harry. Fuck! I need— I need you to fuck me." He moaned. Face pressed into his pillow.

Harry licked him deeper for that. Probing his tongue into Louis' hole, inching his way into Louis' body. Groaning as he hears Louis moan his name over and over. Before pulling back and asking, "Where's the lube, baby? I need to get you ready for my cock."

He watches as Louis fiddles behind the pillow. Before throwing a tube bottle at Harry.

"You were planning for this baby? You wanted my cock inside you so bad?"

" _Yes_."

"Well you'll get it babe. Now turn around for me so I can finger you open."

Louis turned and arched his back. Breath unsteady as he watches Harry with hooded eyes.

Harry smirked. "Look at that cock, baby. You're so hard for me. You're dripping."

Louis moaned when Harry licked at his tip. "Never thought a cock could look so pretty before." He said as he took Louis into his mouth and gave him a suck. Bobbing his head up and down slowly. And Louis isn't big, is the thing. His cock doesn't look like Harry's. His cock is dainty and small like the rest of him is. And somehow this makes Harry crave for him even more. Obsessed with the difference of their sizes.

Louis sounds like he's crying. His hands are pulling at Harry's hair, tugging at it as his legs spasms around him.

Harry's pulls back to snip open the bottle of lube. Breathing heavily as he looks at Louis— watching his chest rise and fall and staring at his pink dusted nipples. He's never met anyone so stunning before. And he's almost no different from a girl— _hell, is even prettier than all the girls he's ever seen_ — but he's hairless too. And so, so feminine with his little hands and little feet.

He's got his fingers drenched generously with lube. He lets the tip of his finger stroke softly at Louis' hole. Hyper aware of everything about Louis. His breath. His body. The way the skin on his neck is flushed pink. And he pushes in. Slowly. Kissing the whine Louis releases.

"So beautiful." He admired. His other hand went up to Louis' chest and found his nipple, brushing it delicately with his thumb before leaning down and kissing Louis' exposed neck. Louis' breathing picking up as Harry presses into his body once again with two fingers now. Fighting the tightness of the walls within Louis. Pushing into him and forcing him to open up for Harry. _Just for Harry._

Harry mouths at the skin around Louis' nipple before puckering up his lips and wrapping them around him. His tongue rolling against the bud. Louis' hands lost into Harry's hair as he whines louder.

He keeps going until a third finger is slipped into Louis' body, words getting lost in the crook of Louis' neck as Harry whispers about his beauty.

" _Fuck me_ ," Louis begged. "Fuck me now, please, Harry."

"Anything for you, baby." He whispered. Shifting back to kiss Louis' cheek before arranging himself between Louis' thighs and bringing his legs around his hips. He takes a squirt of lube and drizzles it all over his shaft.

Louis mewled as the head of Harry's cock rubs along his opening. Spreading his pre-cum all over Louis' hole before pushing his tip in with a low grunt. Harry turns his head up and watches as Louis' face contorts. His eyebrows drawn together and his eyes shut tightly as he takes Harry into his body.

"Look at me, baby.." Harry said. "Concentrate on nothing but me."

Louis opens his eyes and nods. Licking his lips as he keeps releasing little sobs. He takes Harry's face into his hands and moans. "You're— you're so big, 'arry.."

"You can take me, sweetheart. I know you can. Just breathe for me." He encouraged, pecking his lips as he slides further into him. Feeling Louis tense as his cock drives further into his body. "God... you're so lovely, my sweet boy."

Louis hid his face into Harry's neck and moaned, biting at the skin there. "Almost.. you're almost all the.. way in.." Louis panted brokenly. Whimpering as his legs tighten more around Harry.

Somehow he likes this best, slow and gentle and with Louis. _Louis Louis Louis_. All the others before him is a blur. None of them has ever felt this right before— but this. This is like the line he read on a book that haunts him still today. He is more myself than I am. I was born in him and he was born in me. There is nothing before this moment and there will be nothing after this.

"Don't stop," Louis breathes. "Don't ever ever stop," he pleads.

Harry buries his cock all the way to the hilt. Both of them gasping as the skin of their naked bodies connect. Flesh-on-flesh. Harry throwing his head back at how warm he was. His hands turning into fists on either side of Louis' head as he pulls his hips back slowly only to push back in again.

He kept fucking into him until he finds a rhythm. Groaning into Louis' neck as he sped up his thrusts. He found Louis' hands and interlocked them with his. "Good boy.. you're doing so good angel." He panted whilst driving in harder.

Their breathing becomes syncopated as their bodies collapse into each other's again and again. Louis' skin was rosy and shimmering with his sweat and his belly was shining with his pre-cum. When Harry licked at his neck he tasted like the sea. He smelt like water and earth and something so distinctively him. When Harry kissed at his lips all he could think was, _you are my favourite scent._

Louis dropped his legs down as he arched his back. His nails sunk into Harry's knuckles as he moaned. He called out his name. Over and over again. Voice catching as his hips struggled to keep still and met with Harry's thrust. His toes pointing at the feel of him.

Harry goes crazy at the sight of him, can't help himself from going harder, faster, more more more, and even then it doesn't seem to be enough. Can't possibly be enough until Harry doesn't know who's taking it and who's giving it anymore. Until their bodies become so morphed into each other’s there was no beginning and no end anymore. Just two beings entwined. 

Harry lets out a long groan, falling forward a little so he's hovering over Louis, his hips rolling into him with each thrust. He feels himself getting closer. So he reaches between their bodies and takes Louis in his hand, tugging at his cock until Louis is gasping, letting out choked moans, until he feels him spasming around him and climaxing on their chests.

And then it's utter bliss. Harry keeps muttering sweet nothings, promises, confessions, all kinds of poetic things into Louis' skin, his eyes sliding close as he edges himself closer and closer, just a few more stuttering thrusts and then he's gone, gasping into Louis' open mouth as he finishes inside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love more than anything to hear your thoughts about this. Leave behind a comment! Let me know what you think. :-)


End file.
